


The King and the Taco Truck

by Oshii



Series: I Have That Effect on Women: Lucifer H/C Prompt Fills ;) [2]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Food Poisoning, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hurt/Comfort, Lucifer AU, Sickfic, Vomiting, emeto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 22:19:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17775287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oshii/pseuds/Oshii
Summary: A short chronology of Lucifer’s arrival in L.A., chronicling his infamy and invincibility that quickly becomes established, and one time it doesn’t. Maze is there to pick up the pieces, and gloat a little in the meantime. H/C, food poisoning, emeto.





	The King and the Taco Truck

**Author's Note:**

> For an anonymous Tumblr prompt: 
> 
> If you're willing I would love to see an early arrived in LA Lucifer getting ill off the lifestyle and having Maze look after him for a bit?
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Any similarities to actual persons, living or dead, is unintentional. Enjoy!
> 
> Posted Feb. 06, 2019.  
> Original link: https://oshii.tumblr.com/post/182592722319/if-youre-willing-i-would-love-to-see-an-early

_Los Angeles, California  
2011 A.D._

“So,” grinned Lucifer, edging ever closer into the other man’s gaze, “have we got a deal then, Sammy-boy?”

The boy across the table, beguiled as he was, could only blink helplessly, transfixed by Lucifer’s charm. “I…yes. Absolutely. Anything you want. I’ll do anything.”

“ _Wonderful_ ,” purred Lucifer, straightening up and clasping his hands together. “I knew you’d come around, Sam. Finally decided to put old Mumsy ahead of your own desires, hm?”

The pool water reflected the setting sun in sparkling bursts of light, illuminating the sharp planes of the devil’s face. Not his true face – only rarely his true face – but his handsome human visage; the one that swayed hearts and stole breath in mingling whispered gasps between cocktail sips and tender kisses.

The man called Sam – Sam Davis, as it were – swallowed visibly, nodding. “Whatever it takes. I just…I want her to be able to see me perform. It’s always been her wish, you know? I figured…”

“You figured why not incorporate both of your desires into one favor?” Lucifer’s smile grew cheeky, and he cocked an eyebrow, sipping from his drink and eyeing the young man furtively. “Consolidation is always a smart choice, in my opinion. Keeps things nice and neat. You’re a good man, Sam. A good  _son_.”

The flush in Sam’s face seemed to break the spell, at least momentarily. He nodded and gave Lucifer the ghost of a smile. “Thank you,” he breathed, and the relief was genuine. “I owe you, man. Big time.”

Lucifer was positively glowing, exuding all the charm and grace imaginable. “In due time, Samuel,” he assured the boy, raising his glass in a toast. “Here’s to a long and lucrative career, filled with plenty of groupies and cocaine and tabloid-spinning scandal!”

Sam grinned, now, fully reanimated and flying high on the thrill of the deal. “Hell yes,” he toasted in return. “To Lucifer Morningstar, the dream maker, baby!”

“And to your mother,” continued Lucifer, his brilliant smile laced with poison. “May she continue to live a long and fulfilling life, one of faithful conviction and good health, thanks to the unrivaled generosity of her dear son.” He looked the boy in the eyes again, and the evening sunlight caught twin glints of ruby red. “Best not keep her waiting. Go spread the good news, Sam. The world awaits your greatness!”

Sam, devolving into earlier nervousness – perhaps because now he’d finally realized the gravity of his situation and the futility that followed backpedaling – rose to his feet, chair legs scraping against concrete. “I can’t thank you enough,” he reiterated, sticking with politeness. “How do I find you again? Y’know…to return the favor?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Lucifer replied, winking. “I’ll be keeping tabs on you, Sammy-boy. Let’s hope the show in October ends with a  _bang_ , hm?”

And, as he stood up to leave, Lucifer saw the boy’s face change – the  _oh, shit, I’ve made a deal with the Devil_ expression he’d grown to recognize over the years, and never cherish any less through the decades.

–

The days blurred into lakeside drives and glinting sunlight off chrome fenders, real Aviators shining black as he beguiled highway patrolmen into letting him off scot-free; into sun-soaked beach parties rippling with salty waves and glittering beige sand tossed into the air like handfuls of crystals; pink bikinis and tanned skin and oh-so-delicious margaritas and daiquiris and adultery by the poolside. (He always gave before receiving, earning himself a reputation as L.A.’s most  _generous_  playboy philanthropist…according to local definition of the term, anyway).

Nights devolved into endless blurs of multicolored strobe lights, flashing freeway signs speeding by at 110, brilliant laughter and tossed highlighted hair and mile-long legs uncrossing beneath microskirts in the passenger seat; LUX concerts and piano performances and scotch, scotch, and more scotch, mixed with the jittery thrill of glittering coke and the velvet melting swirl of ecstasy, glowing hot and sensual and ripe for the pillaging. This whole city…was ripe. From Santa Monica to Hollywood to Pasadena, he owned the night. Lucifer Morningstar, owner of LUX, the favor granter, the world’s best lay; the King of L.A.

He could do whatever he wanted, whenever he pleased; anything he desired was at his fingertips.

But for all the splendor of living on Earth, there certainly were no share of complimentary drawbacks.

–

 _3:32 PM_  
Two weeks later  
LUX Penthouse interior

“Maze…” came the trembling gasp from within the champagne ice bucket. “ _Mazikeen…_ ”

Maze had tortured endless scores of damned souls over the last few millennia. Eons of mutilation, of mind games, of screams and sobs and pleas for mercy, echoing like whispered melodies in her memory. She had been forged in the bowels of Hell itself, made to hurt, to inflict the severest of eternal punishments.

Not the least of which being her current predicament.

Maze stood, immovable and thoroughly disgusted (moreso at the foreign twist of weird, awful, squirmy  _wrongness_  she felt watching her boss retch his human guts out). Pity, she suddenly remembered, that’s it. She could do that now.

“Lucifer,” she answered him at last, face contorted in distaste. “What’s gotten  _into_  you?”

Finished with another stomach-clenching heave, he sagged over the bucket, catching his breath. “I think,” he panted, “whatever’s gotten _in_  is now thoroughly  _out_.”

He felt her hand come to rest on his back – small and solid and warm – and looked up through tear-stained lashes to see his infernal assistant standing there, gazing down at him with unaccustomed pity in her eyes. “Why, Mazikeen,” he began, and abruptly grimaced as another wave of nausea doubled him over the bucket. Nothing came up, however, so he hovered in dreadful anticipation, devolved into pattern breathing. (This was the worst bit of all this business, he decided).

His stomach clenched, convulsively, and his whole torso wrenched upwards in response, tensing in a few awful, abortive expulsion maneuvers. Sweat beaded on his temples, shining dimly in the overhead lights, and his breath grew pitched with painful desperation. The moan he elicited throughout all this null effort caused Maze’s own blackened heart to twist in sympathy, and she dared to rub her boss’s back, offering some slight comfort through his perceived misery.

(misery that she didn’t inflict – if any harm was to ever befall Lucifer, it would be by  _her hand only_ ).

“It’s okay,” she told him, forcing herself to stay put despite the sheer conviction of wrongness she felt (this was backwards, so wrong, he was the Devil himself, he shouldn’t be gasping and moaning and retching like this, surely he’d been poisoned and she was going to have to watch him _die_ —). “You’ll be fine. Just a little Earth illness. You’ll live…probably.”

The authority in her voice came naturally, a first resort to upheaval. The empathy peppered in it, however, was new, and…strangely nice, she found.

With a  bone-weary sigh, Lucifer again lifted his head form the dank confines of his chosen receptacle to stare bemusedly at her (he was far too exhausted to muster up a proper glare). “Yes, Maze,” he rasped, eyes and lips wet, face shining with ill sweat. “I have gathered this.”

Maze nodded and pressed her mouth into a thin, grim line. His vexation was not lost on her; the warmth flooding her every cold cockle simply felt too good to acknowledge the former. She inwardly beamed at the notion that she’d successfully offered him solace. “You want a glass of water or something?”

Another sigh, followed by a sick-sounding burp, was his answer. “That would be lovely, Maze. Thank you.”

Among the list of people who owed him favors, he mentally scratched out Sarah Sloan from the no.1 slot and slapped in her place Jose Gilbrata, proprietor of “L.A.” Taqueria, his (now former) favorite taco truck. Maze, when she returned with his life-sustaining liquids, could perhaps be of some assistance in formulating a new and particularly gruesome form of torture for health-code-violating taco stand owners.  

“Here,” she murmured, kneeling down and offering him the glass of water. “Drink.”

Her hair tickled his shoulder, and he wearily reached for the glass, feeling his stomach contract at the thought of actually taking a sip. “Maze,” he rasped, “how about we make use of your decidedly impressive skill set up here on Earth?”

Maze rolled her eyes, but it was warm with fondness. “As happy as I am to hear you ask,” she replied, “I don’t just inflict my special brand of torture willy-nilly. Food poisoning sucks, but…ain’t worth my time.”

This confession was enough to rouse a burst of strength within Lucifer, and he lifted his whole head up – mucus and tears and all, dripping disgustingly – to stare at her, ignoring her recoil at the sight of him. “Mazikeen,” he rasped. “What’s gotten into  _you_?”

She shrugged, and suddenly blushed with the warmth of hidden excitement. “I’ve got a date tonight. His name’s Jose, and he runs a bitchin’ taco truck. Sells good weed, too.”

Lucifer could only answer with a guttural retch, doubling back over the bucket and nearly dropping the cup. Maze simply sighed with newfound contentedness, and resumed her back rubbing efforts.

Her boss may have been the King of L.A., hiring her as his royal consort, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a little fun with their loyal subjects every now and again.

After all, eternity was a damnably long time.


End file.
